Humans have language; animals communicate. This was the scientific consensus until not long ago. Humans use their language to express complex thoughts; animals make primitive signals to express distress and the desire to mate. Humans have intelligence; animals have instinct. This dualism, centred on the uniqueness of our species, underpins much of civilised thought and culture: it disconnects us from the cultures of other beings.
In recent years, science has belatedly ventured a reconnection. In 2024, a philanthropic foundation launched the Coller Dolittle Challenge for Interspecies Two-Way Communication, announcing a $10 million prize for ‘cracking the code’ of animal language. The Cetacean Translation Initiative (Ceti) has isolated sperm-whale clicks as a possible ‘form of punctuation’, indicating that non-human creatures may even possess grammar. Tech advocates see artificial intelligence as the key to unlocking the puzzle of animal tongues, allowing the extraction of information from the darkest corners of our non-human neighbours’ minds.
What larger purpose is achieved by employing machines, modelled on our own language systems, to probe the consciousness of the creatures around us? Optimists are hopeful it might lead to a shift in the way we treat animals, and yet the things we already know – that animals feel fear, pain and grief – do nothing to stop the torments humans inflict on them every day. Do the proponents of AI really want anything to change, or is the cracking of animal tongues simply another item to add to the ever-growing list of Clever Things Humans Have Done?
Sentient and verbal creatures have populated myths, fables, dreams and stories all the way back to a time before the great cleaving
The Dark Mountain Project has always sought to emphasise non-human perspectives and to ‘step outside the bubble’ of the anthropocentric world. These attempts – in writing, art, music, performance and ceremony – have not been made in order to demonstrate cleverness, but stem from curiosity and a desire to connect more deeply. The pain of civilisation’s separation from our wild kin runs through much of this work, and it’s no easy thing to cross the false divide. Many have written about the ways in which animals have helped and healed. Some have attempted to imagine their way into animals’ minds. Modernity often casts such attempts – disdainfully termed ‘anthropomorphisation’ – as something to be grown out of. Stories of talking animals are best left in childhood. But in cultures across time and space, sentient and verbal creatures have populated myths, fables, dreams and stories all the way back to a time before the great cleaving.
In consumerist cultures, relatable animals are sold to us as scheming foxes, Stetson-wearing bunnies and cute, wise-cracking pandas, all-too-human caricatures dressed up in animal skins. Rather than entering their world, we force them into ours. But perhaps this cartoonishness stems from a deeper yearning. In cultures that have grown painfully distant from the natural world, anthropomorphisation, however imperfect, acts as a kind of gateway. Fables of animals that talk, think and feel in similar ways to us might be an initial, clumsy step towards reconnection.
Dark Mountain: Issue 29 is inspired by bestiaries – medieval manuscripts that described the lives of animals both real and mythical, familiar and fantastical, observed and imagined. Unlike traditional bestiaries, though, which often instrumentalised beasts to reinforce moral messages – stags representing loyalty and beavers an admirable work ethic – we invite you to send us work in which animals simply are. Too many narratives present animals, and nature in general, as a resource for our species, whether as ‘ecosystem service providers’, convenient metaphors, or a waiting cast of helpers, teachers and healers. Even with the best of intentions, the implication behind all this is that animals exist for us, never just for themselves. We would love to see work in which humans act in supporting roles to non-humans – or even work that features no humans at all.
We would love to see work in which humans act in supporting roles to non humans – or even work that features no humans at all
We welcome explorations of all kinds, from Indigenous perspectives and insights to scientific journeys that lead us deep into animal realms, from microscopic life to megafauna, from familiar creatures to extremophiles, from individual biologies to the interconnected relationships that maintain life between us all. What experiences arise with raised hackles, outstretched wings, in the depths of burrows and the details of migration memory? We want to see pieces that imagine the worlds we’re not privy to, the lives and rituals of those from whom we set ourselves apart. We invite work that challenges, asks questions and illuminates, but most importantly work that has the animal at its heart.
Dark Mountain: Issue 29 will be published in April 2026. The deadline for submissions is Friday 14th November. We are accepting non-fiction, fiction, poetry and artwork – for further details on what and how to submit, please read our submissions guidelines. Please note this is an online submission process and form, so do read carefully. We cannot read or respond to work that does not fit within those guidelines.
Submit your work for Dark Mountain: Issue 29 here.